A New Beginning
by MarhsallConlon
Summary: Javert doesn't jump, he can't. He is too scared. Instead, he decides to change his life for the better. Please review!
1. The Reckoning

He had let him live. Why had he done that? The pain he felt now, the confusion, was much worse than when they were beating him. He could not live in the debt of a thief, a denier of the law. This man, this devil, had let him live, purely to see him die by another's hand. This man, Jean Valjean, was nought more but a trick, a test. A test which he had failed. Javert thought all of this in a second. Knowing what he intended to do now and, knowing he was damned for what he was about to do, he began ascending the steps, singing softly, voicing his confused, angry thoughts for what he knew would be the last time. He sung about Valjean, the monster that had haunted him for years. He had spent what seemed like his entire life chasing him and now, now that he had spared his life, it felt meaningless. He had been so sure he was right, so sure he was fighting for the law, a noble cause but he was wrong. Valjean was less a monster than he, Javert, was. The more he thought about it, the more he realised: He was the devil. He was the one in the wrong. He could not live with the fact that he, an officer of the law, was worse than a thief.

Valjean had spoken true, he was the stronger man. Javert's head span as he sang softly into the night, now standing on the bridge, overlooking the Seine. He was damned, he knew it. He looked into the night, at the stars he had once adored and he saw them, empty. They could not save him now, no-one could. He could not believe it had come to this. He looked down at the river, the last sight he'd ever see and he cried. Javert, the man who had remained determined for over a decade, cried. He stepped down. He was too weak, too scared to jump. He heard a voice in his head, that of Valjean 'You did your duty, nothing more'. The words seemed hollow and empty now. His duty had done him no favours as of yet and had served him with this, this nightmare. He had walked among the bodies at the barricades, young men who had died fighting for a cause truer than the law. They had died fighting for the greater good, fighting for the people. Javert paced the side of the bridge knowing that, even as he stood there, Valjean was proving himself better than him, saving a man's life.

The only survivor of the barricades, Marius, was being saved by Javert's obsession, Valjean. That man had haunted him ever since he had met him, the day he was released. 24601 was how he had known him, a number, not even a name. Valjean, he realised, was more human than he could ever hope to be. 'Those who follow the path of the righteous, shall have their reward' Those words rang in his head, wondering if he was following the path of the righteous or if he was, like many others, deluded. He knew nothing now, nothing of who he was and what he was fighting for. He decided that he was no longer the man he was before. He could no longer be that wretched creature that delighted in lesser men's discomfort. He was changed, a new man. Justice had not been done, nor would it ever be, not for Javert. Valjean was the better man by far, he knew this, but that did not mean he could not be a good man, too. The night around him blew and the river looked more morbid than ever. It looked black and cold, as he had just described the stars a few minutes earlier. The world, however, looked full of hope, something Javert had not seen for many, many years. He looked at the buildings that surrounded the river, full of people, with lives and families. Once, he thought, he had made it his job to destroy those he thought were in the wrong. The stars seemed brighter than ever, now. It was a new beginning, a new story to begin. He could change, as Valjean had all those years ago. He may never be as important as him, but he could try his best to help those who needed it. He set off into the night, a new man.


	2. A New Man

Javert had done it. He had changed, he knew it. He felt a warmness in his heart, a warmness he had never felt before. He loved it, the feeling of being free from the law, the law he had served for so long. He could almost dance. He was free! He knew now how Jean Valjean had felt when he had been released on parole, which he had neglected. Javert knew that Valjean was an honest man now, though. He had been mistaken in his hatred for him, this much he knew. He had no idea if he would ever see Valjean again, though somehow he expected so. For some reason, he found himself hoping that he did. The day he had met Valjean, all those years ago, was the day that his mindless obedience to the law had begun to unravel. He smiled, something he had not done for a long time, it feeling uneasy on his lips. He could feel again, too. He could feel pity and compassion for the men he had worked so hard, for so long that they just dropped.

He would not change his name, however much he wanted to be changed. His name was who he was and he wanted to make a new image for that name. Instead of it being an image of authority and threat, he wanted that face to be a friendly face, a helpful face. He knew that all of this would come with time and deeds. He looked around and smiled again, easier this time. There was a poor woman begging on the street. Days ago, he would have kicked the woman aside but now he felt pity for her. He gave her over a hundred francs, not bothering to count. He felt a warm feeling inside himself at this deed. The woman was thanking him, something no-one had ever done sincerely before. He could not help but smile all the way back to his lodging. He opened his door, lighting a lamp. He turned around, seeing the familiar face as he did. "Valjean..." He whispered. The man who had haunted him all those years looked at him, impassively. The man spoke, solemn. "I said I would return and I did." Javert felt a cool relief at this, believing the man there to kill him. "Days ago, I would have shackled you up and beat you but now, Valjean? Now I am a changed man, no longer duty-bound to the law." Valjean looked confused at this. "Surely not you Javert? The man who hunted me through all those long years. I believed you lost forever, inspector." Javert struggled to hold back another smile "Do not call me inspector, I no longer hold that title. I am a man such as you now, Valjean." The man looked at him suspiciously. "I am changed, Valjean. The law will continue looking for you but I shall not. I no longer believe in the corrupt ideals of the cause I once served. You may have stolen but you are not a bad man." He said, voicing the thought he had feared all of these years, that he was wrong, that he was not the righteous man he thought he was. Valjean nodded. "I am glad you have realised this, Javert. You were never a bad man, just a dutiful one and a mistaken one. We all make mistakes." He said, watching him. Javert nodded and sat down on a wooden chair, which creaked under his weight. He indicated another chair, saying "Sit, please." Valjean did as instructed, before Javert poured two glasses of red wine, sliding one to him. Javert took a sip, savouring the taste, Valjean seeming to do the same. "To freedom!" Javert said, raising his glass. Valjean did the same "However hard it may be to come across..."


	3. The Dream

Javert lay on his bed, thinking about the day he had lived through. Javert had no idea if he could sleep. Sleep seemed distant, like the stars. His mind wandered to the bridge, to the choice he had been forced to make: Die and be damned, or change and be everything he could be. His eyes fluttered shut unexpectedly, sleep taking him. When he awoke, he would have no memory of the dream, though he would feel hurt for a reason he could not place. His dreams wandered back to the past, to his childhood.

Pierre Javert was ten years old. His father was a convict and his mother was a fortune-teller. Not the most happy family, as you can imagine. Pierre spent his days pickpocketing the rich folk who he saw at the tavern he waited, with his uncle. He usually got a fair amount at the end of the day, giving half to his uncle and whatever else he got. Today, though, he had a rare day playing with his friends. The gutter may be filthy and infested but you found your true friends there, not like if you were rich, with people pretending to be your friend for your money. Pierre had pulled that scam a few times, sucking up to rich kids, who manipulated him and used him. Pierre didn't care as long as he got the money. Right now, though, his mind was not on matters of money. His mind was on matters of jokes and of fun. They were running throughout the streets, laughing and occasionally pushing into someone, stealing what they could. This was fun, which he knew he would miss when he grew up. He rushed into the tavern, grinning. His uncle smiled at him "So, young Pierre! What have you been up to, this fine morning?" Pierre shrugged "Normal stuff, you know..." He mumbled. His uncle grinned "Alright... Go up to your room, it's getting late!"

Still dreaming, Javert tossed and turned in his sleep, remembering his days as a child. He had lost all of his friends, even arresting a few of them for their crimes. He decided, subconsciously, that he regretted this and, before he knew it, another memory revealed itself, in the back of his mind.

Pierre Javert was seventeen years old. He was walking along the street, his suit feeling uncomfortable and cold. He had been in tutoring for six years and now he had finally graduated. His tutor had left early that morning, not being one for goodbyes. Pierre had liked the man, his smart demeanour, his sharp edge. Pierre had seen the man as a father figure, one of authority. He was gone now, though. Stuck in these thoughts, he barely noticed the beautiful female that walked past him. Dressed in a beautiful summer dress, she was as bright as the summer day that God had granted them. He was instantly in love, even though he had no idea of the girl's name. He approached her. "Excuse my bluntness, Miss, but I must say, you look beautiful on this fine day." The girl blushed. "Why thank you, kind sir. You look very dashing." She said, clearly not used to having attention given to her, though Pierre could not imagine why. He smiled what he thought to be a charming smile. It evidently worked, as the woman smiled back. "I do not know your name, Mademoiselle, I am Pierre Javert." She nodded and said "And mine is Lucy... Lucy Parvelle."

Javert tossed more in his sleep as this name rang in his head "No..." He mumbled, unable to leave the dream. He sobbed gently, already knowing the memory that came next, the only one that could. He could not relive that day, it was too painful, too sad. He couldn't repress it and the memory came, like a flash, searing his mind.

Pierre Javert was only a few years younger than he was outside of the dream. He was holding his wife in his arms, his sick wife. She was not long for the world and she was fading fast. Doctors had done all they could do and, still, she was dying. Pierre cried. He cried for his love and he cried for the time he spent obsessing over Prisoner 24601, Jean Valjean. He had spent barely any time with his wife and now it was too late. They had grown apart throughout the years, his obsession with Valjean had damn near torn them apart in recent years. The house they shared, the house they had lived in ever since they had been wed, all those years ago, now seemed empty. Javert felt crueller than he had ever done in the prison. He felt less human than ever, watching his love, the only person he truly cared about, slowly slipping away from him. He hated himself... No, he hated Valjean. Valjean had torn his love away from him, that law-breaker, that thief! He would pay for this murder, just as much his fault as it was his own. The anger in his heart drove his mind, imagining scenes where he cut Valjean down in various ways. He hated that man, that devil. He looked down at his love, his beautiful gem. She was fading, almost gone and she was deathly cold. "Not long now..." He whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Lucy nodded weakly "Yes... My love..." She whimpered. Pierre lay her on the bed, kneeling by her. He took her hand and cried into it. "I'm sorry..." He sobbed. His wife took her hand back "You are forgiven..." She said with her final breath as the life left her.

Javert saw only darkness for the rest of the night, forgetting the dream as soon as it began. Javert awoke the next day, feeling empty and sad, but had no idea why. Javert stepped out of the door, his first full day as a free man, though, as he would soon find out, no man is ever truly free.


	4. Another Day, Another Destiny

Javert stepped out of his lodgings, looking out upon the world that seemed so different now. The dream he had dreamt last night had left no trace on him, having no idea of the painful memories he had relived last night. All that he had been left with from that night was a sad, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked around, summer seeming to have taken the town at last. He looked at the trees, their leaves a bright, vibrant green, contrasting against the bright blue of the sky. The day seemed almost comical compared to the night he had had. He looked around at the people, also, seeing them in a different light. He used to see them as possible convicts, criminals. Now, though, he saw them as innocent people, people with families. These people were innocent in his eyes, now. Once, he would've looked at these men and saw only law-breakers. Now, though, he saw them as humans. Human beings with lives.

Javert was wandering among the streets, looking around at the scenery, dark and grim. Even that seemed bright, brighter than before, anyway. He looked at the gutters, still a faint trace of blood in them. Javert realised with a jolt that this was where so many of the students had lost their lives to the law. They had left their lives, to go into another world, a better world, without suffering and cruelty. Javert had played a part in these youths' downfall, acting as a spy for the law. He had as good as killed these men. He would have led them astray, if it were not for Gavroche. The little boy who had given him up, using his memory and intellect. That boy had been shot and killed, collecting shells and gunpowder. He would have done the same, given the circumstances. He was a child, and he would stay that way for all eternity. It seemed ironic, Gavroche had boasted about little people being able to get into tight spots and spy easily and now? Now he would be little forever. Javert had to admit, he was slightly saddened at his death. Gavroche had so much potential it seemed a pity that it would never bloom, never flourish. He looked at the tavern where he had been strung up, revealed as a spy. The tavern was still severely damaged and it seemed almost impossible that he had been there almost days before, vowing their deaths. He regretted that, now. He wandered into the tavern, wondering if he should.

The tavern held nothing which he hoped it would. Satisfaction, something he could not find in here. He only found empty feelings, regret. He looked at the room, empty chairs at empty tables, and sighed. He looked at the room, realising he had been here. He had been here with Lucy, once. Back then, he was happy, before his obsession with Valjean, happy with Lucy. He looked around sadly, remembering the memory. This memory was one of the best he had of her, of anyone. She had stuck by him when he had almost lost it, looking for him. Now, though, she was gone, dead. He was alone. Even his arch-enemy had left him, never finishing his vow of justice. He didn't want it now, though. He had wasted his life, he realised. He had wasted his life, a slave to the law. Javert looked back on his career in an entirely different light, now. His career had tainted him, changed him. He had been a good man, once. Yet now his life seemed emptier, guiltier. He sighed, shaking his head of these thoughts. He wandered over to where the window had once been, now a gaping hole in the building. He put his hands on the now empty frame, wiping away a few shards of glass. He stared out at the streets below, calm. It seemed impossible that only days ago, dozens of people had been killed there. All thanks to him, Javert's thought echoed in his head. He tried to rid himself of these thoughts, though he couldn't.

His thoughts strayed back to the men he had killed through his actions, not just through his actions, but through his words, his testimonies. He had condemned so many people to slavery and death, so many that justice had eventually lost all meaning. Justice was once the thing he had strived for, seeking it in all he looked upon. He never found it, he never could. Valjean had shown him this, through his actions and through his words. Justice had lost all meaning, a hollow word to his ears. He realised that some of the last words he had said to the revolutionaries 'I renounce your people's court', was the words he regretted most. Their court, however harsh and judging it may be, had justice, more justice than Javert could say he found. He looked down, seeing the place he was tied up. The rope was still there, retrieving the memories of the night before. He still had the bruises, the cuts that they had inflicted upon him. He winced slightly, one of his cuts choosing that opportune moment to begin stinging. He was sure that he would die that night, and he very almost, though by his own hand, not by theirs. He remembered the doom that the river emitted, that night. He could have almost felt Death behind him. When he took the decision not to jump, he had created a new story for himself, the old one gone. Javert, as he had assured himself before, was a new man.

He stared at the tavern now for what it was: a killing ground. Blood painted the walls, the blood of angry men. He could only imagine what bloodshed had taken place here, though the blood painted an image for him. He found it hard to imagine all of those young faces, dead by the side of the tavern. They had died fighting for a cause and, therefore, they were heroes. Javert hadn't seen them as such then, and was struggling to see them as such now, but it was slowly dawning on him. These men were by no means innocent, but neither was Javert. Javert had murdered, or as good as, several people. He had robbed men of their livelihoods, their families. All for the law, a corrupt, ancient scroll that swore every man to their 'duty'. Duty was just killing with an excuse, as far as he saw it now.

Javert wandered out of the tavern, wishing he had never gone in there in the first place. He had felt too many memories, too much pain for him to be able to look at it another minute. He all but ran out of the derelict building, trying to get away from the blood, the souls that haunted it. He ran to a street, he had no idea where, and saw a man, cowering on the street. This man was clearly a begger and several men were assaulting him. They were laughing at him, insulting him with their kicks and punches. Javert's sense of morality spoke up, as he stepped in, ready to fight another fight.


	5. Javert's Intervention

Javert stepped over to the men ruthlessly beating the old begger. He looked at them, the men seeming not to notice him. His voice rang out in the street. "You, there! Stop your assault on this man, he may be a begger but his family holds him dear!" The men turned around, scarred. Javert recognised one of the men, an ex-convict. He seemed to remember him, too. "Inspector Javert, I have not forgot your name! I have not forgot your face, Inspector Javert!" Javert growled "Prisoner 43561, your name means to nothing to me, I do not care about your sins, just let this man go!" 43561 sneered at him "Then what? You let me go? Free as a bird, I don't think so! Your duty is forever more, a slave to the law!" Javert growled at him. "How can you sleep at night, knowing the things you've done, now 43561, you'll let this man run on!" The ex-con sneered at him "But you are Javert! You are a man of the law, enforcing every day, have you gone mad?" Javert watched as the men ran off, happy at their second chance. Javert helped the man up, sighing.

Javert looked the man up and down. He recognised the man, as if he was a ghost from his past. It may just have been his imagination, but he could have sworn the old man was looking at him as if he was terrified, sombre. Javert did not study the rest of this man, not seeing the clothes he wore, the bag on his back. All he saw was a man that had seen much poverty, much pain. This man had obviously had it rough, living on the streets. Javert knew that, in winter, the streets could be deathly cold, especially for a beggar such as this man. Javert walked with him down the street, talking of the rich folks who lived in the houses above the hills. Javert knew none of these men, nor would he wish too. Once upon a time, he may have strived to be like these men, proud to the point of arrogance. Now, though, all that had changed with one fell swoop of fate. He had not since passed that bridge, for fear of temptation. The river, majestic and powerful, had seemed an ironic, albeit painful, way to go. Javert had strived all of his life to find justice, elevating himself above all men. Now, though, he accepted that he was no better than any other man. He was normal, plain. Javert only now realised he was still in the clothes he had worn yesterday, his uniform. He now realised why the man was terrified. The uniform, as it was meant to, showed assign of authority, fear. Javert made a mental note to go back to his lodgings and get changed into his casual clothes. The man was still talking, though Javert had no idea what he was saying. Javert snapped back at what he gathered was a question. He grunted, as if in agreement. The man smiled a little wider, wandering out of the alley, next to the tavern. The man looked out among the scene of the battle that had taken place. His smile turned into a frown, looking out among the scene of destruction. "This was unnecessary" He stated, looking at the blood still in the gutters. Javert nodded. He wandered over to a better view of the tavern, the exterior looking just as damaged as the interior. Javert had seen the tavern from the inside, bound and beaten, the night before. It was different now, broken and splintered from the many bullets it had taken in. Javert heard a soft singing coming from inside the tavern and headed in.

When he wandered up the stairs, he found a boy, one of the revolutionaries, sat on a chair, crying. Javert was behind him, so the boy had no idea he was here. "Oh, my friends, my friends forgive me for that I live and you do not!" The boy sang and Javert felt a rising sadness well up inside him. He watched the boy, injured, sing and a sudden realisation hit him. This was the boy Valjean had saved. This was the boy Valjean had carried through the sewers, the boy Javert had let live. He must have arrived here only minutes ago. The boy stopped singing and stood. He turned and saw Javert. He sprang back, eyes wide. "You! You are the one, that spy!" He spat. Javert sighed slightly, standing up. "I was, but no more. I am sorry for your fallen comrades, along with the injuries you have gained." He apologised, though it had little effect. "It's because of you they're dead!" The boy shouted. "I am Marius Pontmercy and you have killed my friends, inspector!" Javert backed against the wall. "I did not kill them, the army did." He stated, truthfully. Marius growled. "You as good as loaded the bullets in their guns! You told them how to get in, you lied!" Marius hissed. "I did my duty, nothing more!" Javert said, defensively. "But now? Shouldn't you kill me now?" Marius asked, glaring at him through tortured and sad eyes. "I am no longer in the employ of the law." Javert admitted. Marius sighed and wandered over to him, one arm in a sling. Javert instinctively backed away, knowing not to get in the way of a man who lost most of the people in his life in the space of one day. Marius pressed forward, staring him in the eye. He stepped back and Javert let out a sigh of relief, not expecting the punch that knocked him cold. When he awoke, the boy was gone.

Javert got up, nursing his aching jaw. He had deserved that, he admitted. He sat himself on a stool, staring around at all the destruction that had been wreaked there, broken glass, splinters of wood. Javert sighed, contemplating the boy's words. 'You as good as put the bullets in their guns!' The words echoed in his head, hurting. Javert winced, knowing they were true. He had lied, deceived and demoralised the revolutionaries, pretending to be on their side. He had deceived them, relaying false information, lying so the army could catch them by surprise. Then that boy, Gavroche, had figured him out, recognised him. He had revealed him, preparing them for an attack. That was the day he should have died, jumped off that bridge into the cascading waters below. But he hadn't. Why? He had been scared, scared and confused. He had left that bridge and never looked back, walking off to a new life. Javert couldn't help but laugh, an odd sound coming from him, at the irony of it all. He was there, so sure he was doing the right thing, yet he hadn't. He hadn't and now his life was full of confusion and unsteadiness. He wondered if he would have been better off dead, damned or not. He had no idea what to do with his life now, to be truthful. The world had moved on, yet he was stuck in the very recent past. He headed out with this though in mind, ready for whatever life threw at him.


	6. The Second Change

The day was uneventful after that, and he returned home soon after. He retired to his armchair, sitting as he had for over twenty years, reading the newspaper. The newspaper had related the news of the battle at the barricade, mentioning him personally. Javert cringed at this, hating being associated with the massacre that had occurred there. It wasn't a fight, it was a slaughter. A dozen or so schoolboys against almost a hundred well-trained soldiers. Hardly a fair fight. Javert rolled his head on his neck, only now realising how tired he was. His unconsciousness had done nothing for his exhaustion, the previous night making him only more tired. He still had no idea of the dreams, the memories that had haunted him that night. Javert stood and headed towards his chambers.

As Javert lay there, sleep slowly began to creep on him. He felt his eyes weigh heavy and he could not help drifting off. His vision went black and sleep overcame him. His dreams on this night were full of stars, of serenity. He had never had much serenity in his life, for some reason. He had always loved the stars, though. The stars provided some relief from the bustle of his everyday life, arresting criminals. Their, in their multitudes, they looked almost smug, as if they knew Javert would change his life. Javert supposed, in hindsight, this was the sort of thing he had always wanted for himself, a life of freedom, of goodness. He had tried following the path of justice and he had failed miserably, becoming obsessed with one man, Jean Valjean. Javert had spent a good part of his life chasing Valjean relentlessly, losing his sweet Lucy in the meantime. Lucy had stuck by him for as long as she could, finally succumbing to the mortality that Javert had long feared. As his mind was thinking about Lucy, the memory of her death replayed in his mind.

Javert woke up the next morning, having actually remembered this dream. He had tear tracks down his face, his eyes were red and puffy and their was a grief that couldn't be spoken inside of him. He sat on his armchair again, silent. His eyes glazed over and he had no idea how long he just sat there, unmoving. When he finally regained his senses, he thought to look out of the window. It was still night. He had slept less than two hours. He looked up at the sky, the white specks against the black background. He always thought of the stars as a sort of mentor to him, guiding him as he went. He realised now that he had been following a fool's mission, believing that justice could prevail. This was a fallacy, a delusion. He smiled slightly, looking at one particular star. Javert's eyes had been immediately drawn to it, as he remembered that star fondly. He had once told Lucy, a few days into courting her, that that star was her star. He looked to the star immediately to the left of it, looking only inches away. Javert had said that that star was his, forever next to Lucy. He had left her side, though. It had taken years, but he had left her side, instead hunting a man. Lucy had forgiven him on her deathbed, just as she had died. Javert had been cut off from everyone and everything at that point, seeking only justice, seeking only to see Valjean arrested. Javert let out a deep sigh, slumping back into his armchair. What had he now? No family, no friends, no living. His life was worthless. Then it hit him. He had been waiting for a new start and maybe this was it! Maybe this was the chance he had been waiting for, to change his life! He thought about this for close to two hours then finally agreed to change.

He went back to his bed then, not caring that the sun was already nearing the horizon. He drifted off into a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep. He slept the entire morning away and most of the afternoon, finally awaking at about six o'clock. Javert felt extremely well-rested, better than he had done for years. Javert got his uniform on out of pure habit and then changed into his civilian clothes, a jacket and a hat. When he got to his door, he put his hand on the handle, ready to step out onto a new world, again. He opened the door and immediately the smell from the café near by hit him, the smell of fresh pastry. Javert realised he had money and walked towards the café. He opened the door, being greeted by the clerk there. He bought a croissant and ate it while walking down a populated street. It felt good to be out on the street without being feared, without being loathed. He felt more comfortable in these clothes than he ever had in his uniform. Javert realised he had never been truly happy in his profession, always having to ruin men's lives. He was happier now, without the responsibility of justice on his shoulders. He had a particular spring in his step, that of a man who had a great weight very recently lifted off his shoulders, and a bright smile on his face. He passed stores and people that he had never seen before, people that returned his smile and some who looked at him like he was a maniac which, he admitted, he probably looked like. Javert didn't care what people thought, though. He never had. As a child, he had pick-pocketed the rich, taking merciless beating when he was occasionally caught. As a teenager, he had to sneak around Lucy's estate, trying not to wake her father, who would doubtless gut him if he found out about their love for each other. He had woke him once, though he got away just in time. As an adult, he had arrested men with indifference, seeing only the justice that must be done. And now, now he was enlightened, empowered with a new feeling, that of joy, of anticipation. He was actually looking forward to what the days would bring, the new people he would hopefully meet. Javert thought all this as he bounded down the street, greeting strangers.


	7. News of Valjean

Javert was wandering down the street, the dream of the night before still having left its mark on him. He could still feel the pain, the grief from witnessing his beloved's death in front of him yet again. It did not feel right, not natural that he should ever have to live through that again. Javert wished he could be rid of his past, his cursed past. A man of duty, he had once been, before discovering the way or justice was not always the moral one, one that destroyed lives. He reflected upon this, only snapping out of his thoughts when a boy ran up to him. The boy instantly reminded him of Gavroche, that little boy from the barricade, now dead. The boy was looking bedraggled, tired. He looked up at Javert, panting to catch his breath. "Monsieur! I have searched for you for almost an hour!" The ex-inspector looked at the boy, wondering if he was about to be the victim of a scam. The boy finally caught his breath and sighed. "You are Javert, yes?" He asked, surprising Javert. He nodded slightly. "That is my name, yes." He replied, more cautious by the minute. Javert looked at his lodgings, only a few houses away. He indicated the house, deciding it was better not to talk in the open. The boy nodded, following Javert with slight apprehension. Javert frowned slightly, wondering what on Earth this boy could want him for, who had sent him. Javert could come to only one conclusion. His superiors must have sent him, who else could? Javert growled slightly. He opened his door, indicating a chair for the boy. The boy sat obediently. "I have been sent by-" Javert cut him off before he could continue "My superiors, I know." The boy looked at him. "Your superiors, Monsieur?" Javert looked at him confused. "No. I have been sent by a man who called him Jean Valjean." Javert stumbled back, leaning against his wall. "Valjean? He sent you? What does he want?" He asked, looking at the door. The boy looked at him sadly "He wants nothing, sir. He wished me to find you and tell you of his passing." Whatever Javert was expecting, it wasn't this. He looked at the boy skeptically. "Dead?" He asked disbelievingly. The boy nodded. "He passed away at the convent. His daughter and her new husband were with him." Javert nodded, then looked up. "Husband?" He asked, confused. "Yes. She was married earlier that same day to a man named Marius Pontmercy." Javert nodded "Yes, I had a brief encounter with him yesterday..." He said, hand moving involuntarily to his aching jaw. Javert snapped back to his senses, sighing. "You may go, boy." He said and, as the boy passed, he gave him a ten franc note. Javert, now able to show his shock, put his hand on his forehead. Dead. Valjean, the man he had hunted through most of his life, was dead. He had always assumed that he, Javert, would be the one to kill him, or vice versa. Now though, Javert felt lost, unsure of where to go next. He slumped on his armchair, alone with his thoughts.

When he finally picked himself up from the armchair, he felt more alone than ever. He realised now that, after Lucy's passing, Valjean had been the only constant thing in his life. He had been the one he could vent his rage on, his anger. He had hunted him viciously, obsessively. Now, the chase was over, Valjean was dead. Javert felt almost saddened, though. Why did he feel guilty? He knew why. He felt guilty because he had hunted this man to the edge of his life, to the point of madness. He had exhausted this man, he had run him off his feet, just as he had promised. He had ended the chase, just when he had given up. He saw himself in a different way, now. He saw himself for what he was, what he had been all along. He was the bad guy. All those years, he thought he was doing what was right when really he was ruining a man's life, wasting it. He had wasted his own life, his own career. He had spent every free minute of his time trying to track Valjean down. He had found him, as the Mayor of a town. He had tried to take him in to custody and failed. Then he had found him again, though he had not known it. He had actually saved him from a robbery, having no idea at the time who he was. He then saw him two times more, in quick succession. He had saw him when he was the prisoner to those revolutionaries. He had thought that Valjean would kill him, he almost wanted him too. He let him live, though. That was the beginning of the end for Javert. When he finally began to see Valjean for what he was, a man of mercy, of goodness. Javert saw him again that same night, when he was carrying Marius to help. Javert had let him live then. He had almost killed himself, in fact. He had almost jumped to his own death into the Seine. Something had stopped him though, a sudden urge to do good. Then, when he had arrived back at his home, he met Vajean one final time. They had talked, as equals. They had raised a glass to freedom and he left. They parted as equals, no better, or worse, than the other. Now he was here, with the knowledge that they would never meet again, apart from possibly in the great beyond. Javert frowned, an emptiness taking over him. He was alone, now. Everyone he had ever met was gone from him, every single one of them. He was solitary, like before. He had no-one. He was Javert, no-one else. No-one else knew him for what he was but him. Everyone else saw him for the inspector he used to be, though was no longer. Javert closed his eyes, head aimed at the floor. He slept for less than an hour, unable to shake the feeling of loneliness. Then he awoke, it still being light. He stepped out of the door and there he was, a man who would change his life forever.


	8. Meeting Marc

Javert looked at the man, his past coming straight to his mind. His childhood, robbing men of their riches. Javert's eyes widened. Marc LePorte, his childhood friend. Javert slammed his door shut quickly, stepping back. He had heard that Marc had died at Waterloo. Obviously, his sources had been wrong. Marc was out there, very much alive. Javert blinked, wondering if the loneliness was now making him see things. He opened his door a crack, seeing Marc's face now. It was definitely him, he recognised those bright green eyes. Javert closed his door, regaining his composure. He waited a few moments, before stepping out of his door. He briskly walked to the side of the street, unsure of whether to talk to his old friend. Then, the loneliness in the pit of his stomach told him exactly what to do. He had to talk to him, to try and save himself from the pit of despair that he was currently hovering over. As he stepped over to him, Marc turned. His eyes widened and he took a step back in disbelief. "Pierre..." He muttered. Javert raised an eyebrow at the mention of his first name, it having not been mentioned in almost three years. He nodded "Marc." He said, betraying no emotion, not least the excitement at seeing someone who knew him before he became the monster he had eventually turned into. Marc looked at him, apprehension clear in his face. "You're a policeman, aren't you?" He asked, gulping slightly. Javert's face turned downwards, into a frown. "I was. I am now just like you, albeit cleaner." He joked, trying to get a smile. It worked to a degree, as Marc smiled a small smile. "I heard you got married?" He asked. Javert nodded, his smile gone. "Yes, to Lucy DeLor." Marc raised his eyebrows "Lucy DeLor? Didn't she die a few years ago?" Marc then realised what he said and his eyes widened. "Pierre... I'm sorry!" He apologised profusely. Javert simply waved him aside, wanting no apologies. Javert sighed "The past is the past." He said simply. Marc nodded sadly, then straightened. "If you're no man of the law now, would you care for a drink?" He asked, giving a small smile. Javert nodded "I can't see why not." He said, hiding his willigness well. So they walked, talking and laughing about old times and friends. They quickly navigated themselves towards a tavern. "This has to be better than the old Thernadier tavern, at any rate..." Marc muttered and Javert chuckled. They went inside, seeing it full of happy, jolly faces. They sat at an empty table, Marc ordering them two glasses of wine. Javert and Marc looked around in the place, seeing no-onw they knew, as it had been for years for both of them. "What happened to everyone else?" Javert asked and Marc looked down. "They all moved on. Jacques is a successful business man now. Terre is dead. He died a few years ago. He wandered into the path of a cart, crushed his back and his neck. Nothing they could do." Javert sighed. He nodded solemnly "A lot's changed since we last met, hasn't it?" This time it was Marc's turn to nod solemnly "Twenty-odd years'll do that to you." Marc said this with a slight tinge of accusation. Javert looked away guiltily. He said "Thing's got out of hand, I left. There's nothing I could do." He said defensively. Marc nodded "I know, but you should have at least found us once you could or were you too high in society to care about us little people? Pierre Javert, grand man, policemen. Too high and mighty for us mere mortals, who had to find their own way in the world." Javert knew these words were true and that Marc must have been practicing this speech ever since he had left. Marc continued to reprimand him and Javert couldn't meet his eye. When he had finished, their wine arrived. Javert sipped at it half-heartedly. When they had both finished, they both stood and headed towards the door.

When they were outside, Marc turned to face him. "I know the past was out of your hands. I am sorry for what I said, you are the only one I could blame for my life, even though it's not your fault. You know, I met a man once. He was mayor of a small town, an extremely good man but then a policeman, a madman, tried to arrest him because he stole a loaf of bread." Javert tried to hide his surprise at this statement. Marc continued, "His name was Monsieur Madeleine. He left that town and never came back." Javert sighed, not being able to tell him that he, Javert, was the one who had driven him out of that town. Javert felt guiltier than ever now. He had no idea that Marc had been in that town, he couldn't believe he had been so close to him, yet unable to see him. Javert now realised that he would never be able to tell him the truth, the honest truth that he had pursued Valjean, Madeleine, whatever name he went by. He had been right back then though, hadn't he? He had been right chasing that law-breaker who was confusing himself with an official. He had to keep telling himself this, convincing himself that he had good intentions. Marc was still going on about Madeleine and a man named Fauchelevent. Javert recognised the name, though he couldn't place it. Then Marc mentioned him almost being cruhed by a cart and then Javert remembered. It was because of that man that Javert had began suspecting he was Valjean. Javert was only half-listening. The other half of his mind was concerned with times past, times gone. While Marc was talking, Javert was remembering Valjean with his many encounters with him. Now Valjean was dead and Javert was alive, though he was no happier. Everyone had moved on, yet Javert was stuck in the past. Javert tuned into the conversation, just as Marc finished his rememberance of Madeleine. "Hmm..." Javert mumbled, only now realising they were wandering down a street. Javert watched the people of the street. They had such ordinary lives, such mundane activities. It never hit him until later that this was what he wanted now, a normal life. He wandered with Marc for a few more hours, until Marc left him to sleep. Javert promptly returned to his own home, ready to retire for the day.


	9. Fall From Grace

Javert woke up less than three hours later, awoken by a banging from outside his bedroom door. He went to check it and was met by several men, smashing up the lodgings. Javert's eyes widened, mouth gaping now. Then the men saw him, turning to face him. Javert recognised none of the men and that, amongst other things, worried him. Then they moved towards him and Javert backed against his door, which had closed, trapping him in the room. "Damn it all." Javert muttered, as he saw something fly towards him, an umbrella, his umbrella. Thieves, he thought as he fell unconscious.

Javert awoke, instinctively moving his legs instinctively, only succeeding in collapsing on a heap on the floor. So his legs were tied. What about his arms? He moved his arms, pain spiking in his shoulders. They had tied him and he must have hurt his arm in the fall. Javert winced, now realising he couldn't see. So... He was blindfolded and bound. Javert tried to groan, now able to feel the gag in his mouth. Javert, at this point, was a bit delirious so could only think of how strange it was he had gagged, bound and blindfolded himself and, more importantly, how. Then, he remembered what had happened and emitted a low growl from his throat. Suddenly, there were footsteps. "Ah! You are awake, inspector!" A young, male voice rang out, smug and mocking. Javert would have told him what he had told everyone: he wasn't an inspector anymore, if it hadn't been for the gag. His attempt gained him only a kick in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Suddenly, Javert's blindfold was ripped off him, blinding him as sunlight streamed through the windows, bright and unforgiving. He let out an involuntary groan, vision slowly returning. He stared into the face of his kidnapper, one of them anyway. His face was young, looking barely eighteen. His curly blonde hair was bouncing off the side of his head with each turn of the head. Javert knew this boy would be very sought after with girls his age, Javert thought, then reprimanded himself for thinking so. Then, the gag was ripped from his mouth. "So, inspector! You are brought before our court, as you should have been nights before." With this sentence, Javert knew who this was. The head revolutionary, unnamed in Javert's mind, this was his brother, he could tell now. "Your brother. He was killed at the barricade, yes?" Javert asked him, anger flaring up in his eyes. The question gained him a rather savage punch to Javert's cheek. Javert got back up on his knees, his hatred for this child increasing. Then, the door opened and Javert was knocked unconscious again.

When Javert awoke yet again, he was gagged and blindfolded again. He resolved just to keep his eyes closed, needing his sleep. It then hit him that that was an odd thought to think, given his current state and position. Javert rolled his hidden eyes at himself, wondering if he'd always been this stupid. He resolved that recent events had turned him incompetent. Damn Valjean, his mind joked, inspiring a chuckle, muffled by the gag. Javert lay back, alone with his thoughts. He wondered if this what life held for him now, a series of assaults and kidnappings. He hoped not, to say the least. As he was thinking this, somebody kicked him. Javert jolted, hitting his head of a table, sparking a new flame of pain. He winced as several voices laughed. Javert suddenly realised he was at their 'court' and gulped, knowing he was as good as dead. His blindfold was ripped off his face, the momentum carrying Javert forward, slamming him down on his chest on the hard wooden floor. Javert suddenly realised where he was, the barricade. His eyes closed as he recognised a voice "Inspector Javert, you stand here accused of murder, deception and betrayal. It is partly because of you, our brothers and friends now lay dead. It is because of you we were attacked when we least expected it. It is because of you we lost them." Javert growled, wishing he could retort. "We will punish you thusly." Marius Pontmercy said, voice smug. And so, Javert's trial began.

Javert had to listen to the insults, the slander that men, women and children alike were casting upon him. He could not speak, partly because of the gag and partly, though not much, because he was almost frozen with fear. He had escaped death, only to be killed by these schoolboys. When everyone was done destroying his pride and dignity, his gag was removed. "Present your case." Pontmercy demanded. Javert opened his mouth and closed it several times, trying to shake the ache. Javert looked up at all the faces, anger radiating from each of them. Javert knew he had no chance in hell. He rolled his eyes back in his head "My case? Oh, my Lord. I have no case. My case rests purely on duty, on justice. Justice which is morally wrong, but which seemed right at the time." He had to restrain himself so he didn't snarl. He wasn't scared, now that he really thought about it. He was angry. Angry not at them, his captors, but at himself for two things. One, for making the damn mistake of volunteering to infiltrate them and, secondly, for getting caught. He snarled at himself, wishing he hadn't been so stupid. The expression earned him only a kick. As he grunted, a man shouted "This is pointless! Just kill him!" Javert did not recognise the voice but, then again, he wouldn't. It worried Javert how long it took anyone to reply, they were obviously considering it. Suddenly, a voice ran g out. "No. We must give him a fair trial although I admit, it's more than he deserves." Javert felt a sigh of relief escaping his lips, glad that he may, though probably wouldn't, live to see another day. Just as the relief washed over him, he sank to the floor, then was kicked unconscious.

When he awoke, two men were in heated discussion. One was Marius, that blasted revolutionary who seemed, like the rest of them, to want Javert's blood. The other voice was one that Javert couldn't place, though he knew it from somewhere. They were talking about him, whether they should kill him or not. Javert could only hear certain words from their conversation, but it didn't seem good. "Fine! Kill him then!" The man yelled. Javert felt his heart skip a beat. He knew who this man was and now it seemed to all fall into place. Marc LePorte, the man who had mysteriously appeared back into his life, who he had let into his home, the very night before those animals had invaded it. Of course, he had to have had something to do with it, Javert just hadn't noticed it. The man continued "But see where it gets you! He may no longer be in the employ of the law but people still notice him! People will notice if he's gone and you can almost guarantee that word will get back to certain officers of the law that Javert associated with. Then, you will have a problem!" Marc yelled. Javert could hear a growl emitting from Marius. "What do you expect me to do? Let him go, after all he's done to us? He killed our _families_, Marc. He killed so many people that he should be begging for forgiveness! Instead he snarls and retorts, never once apologising!" Marius yelled back and this time, Javert could understand every word. "He was doing his _job_. His job was to stop the revolution that threatened his country, his king! He may not have picked the right path but he had no idea where it would lead him. This was the law's doing, not his own." Marc tried, beginning to sound desperate. "He was the law, back then." Marius said simply, before turning to Javert. He took off Javert's blindfold, which Javert had only just realised had been placed on him, and his fears were realised. All along, he had hoped he had been mistaken, that it hadn't been Marc. Now that he could see though, he could see it was Marc, plain and simple. "I'm sorry, Pierre." Marc told him but Javert simply turned his head away. Marius laughed humourlessly "Now you can see, Javert. Your friends will always betray you. Everyone you trust, you shouldn't." He told him and Javert cringed, wishing to speak, though the gag was on his mouth. Marius rolled his eyes. "It seems our prisoner wishes to speak." He muttered, while Marc removed his gag. As soon as he did, Javert tried to move away from him. "Get off me, you traitor!" He growled. Javert could feel hatred and fury rising in his veins. Marc backed away, frowning. "Pierre, I'm sorry. I had no choice." He said quietly. Javert couldn't even look at him. "There is always choice. You just picked the easiest." He said harshly. Marc sighed, trying to control himself. "Easiest? You think this was easy?" Marc asked and groaned. "Finding you was the easy part. Having to befriend you was easy. Betraying you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." Javert let out a humourless chuckle. "But you still did it. You persevered for your 'friends'." He snarled. Marc growled "Friends? You think any of this was so I could _help _them?! I hate them! I've spent the last hour and a half trying to defend you!" He yelled at him. "Why can't you understand this? I did none of this because I wanted to! I did this so that you would have a fair chance! They told me that if I didn't get you here somehow, they'd just staight out kill you! I did this for you, not for me!" He said, sounding desperate. "They're going to kill me anyway, though." Javert said quietly. Marc sighed "They're discussing it." He admitted. "It's not sounding good." Javert nodded "So be it."

While Marc and Javert sat in somber silence, the revolutionaries had been discussing his fate. Many of them were in favour of just killing him, some of making him suffer and others, though not many, on letting him go. Many people were arguing their points, with it almost turning into conflict. At the end, however, they decided that letting him go was the best option, though they knew he could not go unscathed. They emerged from their hideaway, where Javert was waiting in silence, Marc sitting opposite him. They all stared at Javert, their eyes finding no other. Javert stared back, not letting his anxiety show. They all frowned, as if they were one, not several dozen. Marius quietly conversed with the head of the 'jury'. Javert tried to listen in, but he couldn't hear, they were too quiet, less than a whisper. Marius stopped speaking and looked at him. "You're sure?" He asked, skeptical. The man nodded, Javert's heart beating furiously. Marius sighed in defeat. "If you're sure." He said and turned towards Javert. "It seems we have no choice but to let you go." He said and Javert took a long breath, feeling more alive than ever. "But." Marius began and Javert felt stupid for ever expecting it to be over. "We cannot let you go unscathed. You understand that you have taken lives, though not with your own hands. We must get some repayment for this." Marc froze at their words. "You have killed our friends, our families. We must, to some degree, repay you for this." All at once, Javert knew exactly what they meant. He didn't like it.


End file.
